"Fumbling Towards Ecstasy" (4/6)
by MmeFleiss
*~*~*~*~*
When I began to think coherently again, the bright sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows was attempting to burn a hole straight through my eyelids. I rolled over to face the wall and felt a breeze against my bare back, prompting me to blindly grope for the covers until my brain caught up with the significance of my state of undress.
Oh. Dear. God. Please tell me that I had been-at the very least-fully functional the night before. All the supporting medical evidence in the world wasn't enough for me to look Hermione in the eye ever again if I hadn't.
My brain's sadistic decision to remind me of those blasted headlines from two years before only worsened my already dwindling self-esteem. After all, there must've been a good reason all those reports concentrated on what I could do with my tongue and almost nothing else, right?
I didn't think I was particularly vain, but I might've been more amenable to such a complete disregard to my privacy if just one lousy paper had thought to include something like, "By the way, the Chosen One's equipment is remarkable as well. That tongue bit is just a bonus and is in no way a compensation for being lacking in another department." It's not like I was asking for much here.
When I finally worked up the nerve to open my eyes, I was met with the unexpected sight of having the other side of my bed completely untouched. Not even a bout of squinting and twisting my head about could produce a familiar strand of bushy hair left behind on the sheets; a quick pat down my body assuring me that I was at least clad in a pair of boxers only supported my growing suspicion.
Did that mean…
I slipped my spectacles on and sat up, ignoring what felt like a swarm of Doxies gnawing at my brain. My stomach fluttered madly with each step, though whether they were the effects of my unplanned drinking binge or something else, I couldn't tell.
A quick scan around my flat for other signs of life resulted in finding only Hedwig sleeping on her usual perch. The tableware from the night before was gone, presumably cleaned and back in their usual place. I was almost convinced that the entire night with Hermione had been nothing more than a hypothermic hallucination when I noticed the empty bottle of merlot next to my sink. The churning of my stomach sped up even more until I thought I was going to throw up.
It was only after I managed to calm myself down somewhat by absently folding and refolding the emerald green jumper Hermione had left behind the night before that one of the Ministry's distinctive tawny owls dropped a slip of parchment on my head covered in her neat penmanship. I held it up and began to read, half-afraid of what exactly occurred after that fateful third drink.
Was she hacked off that she had to take care of me? Amused by some embarrassing revelation I undoubtedly made? Aroused by the sight of my nearly nude body?
Oh, sweet Jesus, please let it be that last one.
Her account of the previous evening turned out to be disappointingly clinical. Apparently, I had made quick work of the rest of the bottle before regurgitating the contents of my stomach all over my clothes and passing out. She cleaned up as best she could and made sure that I had enough hangover potion left before heading home.
While that went a long way into explaining my state of undress, it left no hint on whether or not I managed to tell her how much I fancied her-or more importantly, how she felt if I did. I stared at the parchment as if clues on her state of mind would appear if I tried hard enough.
Unfortunately, I was no closer to deciphering Hermione's feelings when I finally got up later that afternoon to buy my weekly ration of food, nor that evening after a pick-up game of Quidditch at the Burrow followed by dinner.
I was in the midst of polishing my broom when the woman in question decided to reappear in my presence, the unexpected flash of white at the crook of her arm snagging my attention before I could fully register just who exactly stood on the other side of my front door.
I busted out laughing as my brain confirmed that it was indeed a snarling Crookshanks with a giant plastic cone surrounding his head. I couldn't stop even as Hermione's glare deepened and her cat decided to retaliate by sinking his teeth in my arm.
She made quick work of disentangling us and swept past me with an annoyed huff. "I see that I had nothing to worry about after all. I do hope that you remember that you only have yourself to blame when he decides to leave you a special present on your bed."
My mirth disappeared as abruptly as it came. "What are you on about?"
"The Italian Ministry has been having problems with their local vampire population, and so I've been stuck at work all day handling some of the fallout. We've just been called over there to officially mediate the conflict-but oh, Harry, can't you just imagine the Minister and his staff going over there equipped with garlic, silver, and wooden stakes `just to be on the safe side?' It'll be a disaster!"
I knew that was my cue for some sort of witty reply-but with my amusement over Crookshanks' plight long gone, my earlier nervousness multiplied tenfold.
How could she act so unaffected by what occurred the night before? Even if I hadn't managed to actually say anything, shouldn't she at least be feeling some awkwardness after undressing me and seeing me practically starkers not just once but twice?
Maybe this was confirmation that I've just been deluding myself, and she saw nothing she found worth being embarrassed over. That would certainly explain why all my previous relationships consisted of girls either busily crying over their dead ex-boyfriend or by those blinded by my supposed heroics.
Did that mean that I actually had Voldemort to thank for giving me the necessary fame to at least have a go at dating? Granted, I knew I wasn't much of a prize with my near-blindness and wonky hair, but I didn't think I was as bad as all that.
Then a more horrifying thought occurred to me. Did those same rules apply to that noseless lizard, meaning that somewhere out there had been groupies with bad boy complexes mad enough to try and change him?
Oh God! Obliviate!
I was so distracted that I remained dumbstruck when Hermione reentered the living room with a familiar jar of yellow paste and reached over for my wounded arm. I was barely able to comprehend her apology for leaving Crookshanks behind with me on such short notice and could only nod in hopes that she wouldn't notice my inattentiveness.
The feel of her cool fingers against my skin did wonders on focusing my attention back to its rightful place. I couldn't keep a moan from escaping as her hands slid up to my bicep, causing her to momentarily pause and bite her bottom lip. It was sexy as hell. It was also all the reassurance I needed that she'd felt something too.
With Friday night proving that I was crap at all this talking things through business, I figured that maybe if I just pushed her down and gave into the temptation of cataloging what every inch of her skin tasted like, she'd figure it all out on her own. Brightest witch of her age and all that.
I leaned forward and pretended to absently rub her knee, causing her legs to part infinitesimally in invitation. Another moan wrenched itself away from my throat at the promise such a move held, and I frantically tried to recall the earlier thread of our conversation before my control slipped past saving. "I'm surprised that the Minister hadn't invited me along to act as his glorified bodyguard this time. That's about the only assignment I ever really get apart from those crackpot cases."
Hermione licked her lips before replying, almost making me abandon my resolve in favor of some instant gratification. "T-That's because the outcome is s-still so uncertain. The p-publicity of having you…"
"…shouldn't have to be the sole deciding factor," I concluded, moving even nearer until my lips were brushing up against her ear.
She closed her eyes and shivered as I let my mouth linger, her breath hitching every time I exhaled. Her grip on my arm slackened as she pulled back a little to give me easier access to the pale skin of her neck.
I was about to move in on the remaining distance and start the chain reaction that would irrevocably send us past that invisible line of platonic friendship we've been toeing, when a burst of emerald flames erupted from my fireplace. I instantly formed a hatred unequaled by even the Dark Lord himself towards the previously sweet old lady that served as the secretary for the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
"Ms. Granger, is that you?" she inquired whilst squinting myopically towards where Hermione and I were sitting.
I bit back a groan as she let out a squeak and practically shoved me off the sofa in her rush to answer the Floo call. I didn't even get much of a chance to admire her bum before she went running back towards her office over yet another emergency.
*~*~*~*~*
To say that I was grumpy over the next couple of days would've been an understatement. Fortunately, Ron wasn't known for his perceptiveness, and he never noticed that anything was amiss even when the bulk of my answers consisted of grunting and the occasional nod.
"Oh, I almost forgot to ask you," he said in between heaping bites of chicken tikka masala. "Are you free Friday night? I have tickets to the match between the Cannons and the Magpies."
"How? That's been sold out for ages."
"Well, do you remember that incident with the twins involving the Puking Pastilles?" At my nod, he continued, "They decided to give me the tickets as an incentive not to tell Mum."
I imagined Hermione catching wind of that particular confession and could practically hear her screaming in my head, Ronald Weasley! I can't believe you would be so morally lax as to accept a bribe! And to willfully keep your own mother from knowing the truth-why, you should be ashamed of yourself!
I hid my smirk by staring down at my own plateful of nuclear orange curry before saying, "Sounds great. I've been wanting to watch the Magpies play again."
"Yeah, and this time there's no Hermione to distract that poor sod Oliver. Do you remember how he kept trying to apologize to her in the middle of the match? I've never watched such an awful game. I think half of the stadium wanted to corner him afterwards and demand a refund."
My smile slipped off as my stomach began to protest over the contact with the tikka masala. You'd think I'd learn to stop eating the stuff after all these years. "Do you reckon she's still hung up on him, too?"
"Are you daft? You know full well that Hermione's the sort to go after what she wants."
"You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."
Ron stared at me for a bit before rolling his eyes. "Mate, you've got it bad."
"I do not!"
"You know I got an owl from her on Saturday grilling me about your drinking habits? I think she's afraid you're turning into an alcoholic or something."
"Oh God!"
"Anyway, since she also let it slip that she caught you walking out of your bathroom starkers right after she arrived, I told her that you were probably just feeling inadequate or something. After all, we can't all be gifted at everything."
"You told her what?" Honestly, with friends like these…
"Well, I had to think of something, didn't I? And anyway, it's not like I'm expected to be privy to that sort of information, so she could hardly have taken me seriously."
"We shared a communal bathroom for six years!"
"And everyone knows that there are unspoken rules about that sort of thing!" Ron's eyes practically popped out of their sockets as he moved back as far away as possible without actually getting up, looking far more scandalized than I've ever seen him before. "You don't mean to tell me that you've looked?"
Well… "Of course not!"
That seemed to satisfy him enough to move back into his original position and continue eating, although that didn't stop him from eyeing me with some suspicion whenever he thought I wasn't looking.
*~*~*~*~*
By nightfall, the riotous churning in my stomach became almost unbearable. I could've sworn that Crookshanks actually looked smug when I gave up the battle of reading Which Broomstick after work in a futile attempt at normalcy and headed off to bed.
I don't know how long I laid there tossing and turning before I felt the mattress dip down on one side, but I had my wand aimed and was in the middle of uttering the Blasting Curse before the figure moved nearer to reveal a familiar head of bushy hair.
"Jesus, Hermione," I muttered as my arm flopped back down onto the bed. "You might want to give a bit more of a warning next time."
"Sorry," she said, stroking her chilled fingers against my cheek in a familiar gesture of apology. "It's just that we finished early today, and I wondered why I was sitting around my hotel room alone when I could be here with you."
I barely had time to catch my breath before she leaned down and kissed me. She tasted of strawberry lipgloss and mint toothpaste. Combined with her orange blossom shampoo and the faint aroma of soap that clung to her skin, it should've been overwhelming, but somehow they all managed to mesh together to form something so distinctly Hermione that it was nothing short of perfection.
My eyes snapped shut as her teasing fingers skimmed over my bare chest. She traced over every line, dip, and curve with the same sort of attention to detail that made her top of our year-but right then all I cared about was having her on top of me.
I pulled her as close as the layers of clothing separating us would allow, the hard bulge in my boxers leaving no room for interpretation on my intentions. My lips drifted down towards her upturned neck as I tugged her green blouse off on one shoulder; she let out a gasp that shot straight to my cock as I traced my tongue over her collarbone, my grip around her waist tightening with every undulation of her hips.
"Keep those on," I said as Hermione made a move to take off her shoes: a caramel-colored pair with three inch heels that made her legs look like they stretched out into forever. I could hardly wait to have them propped up against my shoulders while I made her forget her own name.
I flipped us over and lifted her matching skirt up to her midriff without preamble, taking a second to admire the deceptive innocence of her white cotton knickers before attempting to take it off. I got it about halfway down to her knees before I grew impatient and ripped it right off. Her shocked gasp only spurred me on, and I eagerly buried my head between her legs.
I started off by leaving open-mouthed kisses on her inner thighs. She trembled and sighed with every brush of my lips, her bum lifting off the bed completely whenever I paused to let my teeth and tongue work in tandem to leave my mark on the silky softness of her skin.
When her whimpers became edged with impatience, increasing in volume with every second I denied her the maddening pressure where she wanted it most, I smirked up at her before shifting as if to move my attentions downward.
Hermione's grip on my shoulder became almost painful as she growled, "Don't you dare!" before directing my mouth towards her quivering center.
The first lick up her folds had her moaning my name in a way that made me want to forget about taking things slowly and just bury myself inside her. By the time I got to sucking her clit in earnest, her body was twitching with every flick of my tongue.
"Please," she gasped, writhing around so hard that she was practically off the bed. At my confused look, she clarified by adding, "in" before I obligingly plunged two fingers into her wet heat.
Hermione's eyes fluttered shut whilst her mouth formed a soundless "o." It was a moment so unguarded and full of want, that even if this never happened again, I was content in knowing that I was able to make her feel that way-even if only for a moment.
I shook my head as I realized I was gaping down at her like some idiot and concentrated on increasing the tempo. It took less than a minute before the normally articulate witch beneath me was reduced to babbling incoherently, but I was too mesmerized by the answering thrust of her hips to make a teasing comment.
And then suddenly she was shrieking. Her pelvis was pressed against my face so hard that for a second I was afraid I might suffocate. When I finally looked up to smile up at her, however, I found myself in bed alone-my hands grasping at empty space. A bleary look around revealed everything to be in the exact same place I left them before I fell asleep.
It had been, altogether, an erotic dream no different from any other starring my best female friend-but for the first time it left me feeling unsatisfied.
*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: I was tempted to just scrap both this chapter and the next because I wasn't sure if I wanted to end it with the fourth chapter like I had planned in my outline's second draft or to go ahead with the plot point that required two extra chapters. I had to finish chapter five and see how much I liked it before I could decide for certain, so I apologize for the delay in posting this.
Thanks to Jenn for betaing this. Any mistakes left are mine. Also special thanks to Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys and my bf for putting up with all my questions on typical male behavior.
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